Scarlett pushed the thoughts of the sweaty and sexy-as-hell firefighter she’d left behind out of her mind. She had a job to do, and if she didn’t watch her step, she’d end up following the poor bastard they’d dragged out of the basement in another ambulance. She shook her head, stepping across the damp sidewalk over to Chief Alex Stone, the memory of the guy being loaded in the ambulance fresh in her mind. The man’s face had been gray, contrasting oddly with the bright red of the burns covering his forearms. The paramedics had rushed around him, fitting oxygen masks and all sorts of monitoring equipment, but even she could tell the prognosis wasn’t good. People who turned that color were already circling the drain.

She turned to look at the house. The fire was out, leaving the place a sodden, charred mess. Scarlett didn’t know whether to hope the guy the firefighters had dragged out of the basement lived there or not. Having your house burn down and end up in hospital on one night was horrendously unfair, but if the guy had been up to something hidden away in the basement and wasn’t the homeowner, then she felt for whoever was.

It happened more than people thought, even though it was always on the news. Whenever a perp was arrested, the story always included the gratuitous shot of the neighbor telling anyone who’d listen that he was “such as nice man.”

She frowned as she stepped in a puddle of dark water, the grit and grime within masking it against the sidewalk. Thank God for the boots she wore on shift. Most of her colleagues went for sensible footwear; they weren’t complete idiots, but these were in a league of their own. Tall, the top of the boot completely covered her ankle, adding extra support for when she had to move fast. The steel cap gave her extra protection around scenes like the one that lay before her. Crime scenes were rarely neat and tidy, and she appreciated the extra protection. The damn things even had pockets. Her husband, Derek, had suggested she hide something in there, a small knife or tool for escaping handcuffs or bindings. You could never be too careful, he used to say.

Only that hadn’t saved him. One rainy night, just over a year prior, some fucking asshole in a biker gang had dragged Derek from the safe house he’d been using, inflicting brutal torture before finally killing him. No matter how prepared you were, there was no dodging a bullet at point-blank range. This wasn’t the fucking movies. He’d been undercover at the time working on a joint taskforce with the ATF. Had his cover been blown, or was the gang simply tired of his attempts to delay or sabotage a planned gun run? She’d probably never know, but if anything, that made everything hurt worse. At least if she had the full story, maybe she could find some closure. Instead, every time she visited a scene with a vague connection to her husband’s death, it was as if another small shard of her heart broke away, stabbing her soul in the process. Her heart had broken entirely on the night he died, and Scarlett doubted it would ever be put back together again. She wouldn’t allow it. Being whole just meant someone could hurt you all over again, and she doubted she’d survive that a second time.

That was why she’d kept her eyes front and center on her notepad when she’d been talking with Connor McClellan. She’d known his name. His captain had told him when he pointed Connor out, but Scarlett still couldn’t help introduce herself. It gave her an opportunity to touch him, even if it was just shaking his hand. That small amount of contact had been enough to make her entire arm shake, and she’d gripped the notebook hard enough to make her knuckles turn white to stop it. Lord knows she came into contact with plenty of men in her career, and not just the ones breaking the law. Fellow cops, doctors, sheriffs, lab techs, not to mention the damn firefighters right in front of her. Most of them had to be in shape for the job, too, giving her an extra chance at man candy.

Most women in her position would look forward to a daily ogle, but not Scarlett. Ever since that goddamned night. Even a year later, she had zero interest, zero flutter of her broken heart. That was, until she’d seen Connor sitting on the back of the fire engine. He’d been gulping down a bottle of water, and she’d watched in fascination as his Adam’s apple had bobbed with every swallow. Rivulets of water or sweat left tracks down his face, leaving flashes of clean skin through the dark smudges that had covered him from the fire. Maybe a different woman would have grimaced at the dirt, but to Scarlett, it only made him sexier. She appreciated a man who worked hard, and that he’d gotten his face, and gear, covered in grime from saving lives simply made him more attractive.

She shook her head. Clearly, she had a type: tall, handsome, dark-haired men who were into saving lives on a regular basis. That was also why she’d be alone for the rest of her life. She wasn’t attracted to safe. She’d been on a few dates in recent months, after her friend at dispatch’s insistence. There’d been no point. She’d almost nodded off listening to the accountant. Apparently, she liked her men strong, roughed-up, and with a touch of the hero complex.

Connor’s touch had set every nerve ending she had firing, but it wasn’t something she’d ever act on. Scarlett would rather wake up alone every morning for the rest of her life than sit up all night, waiting for her hero to come home. She took the same risk every day, she knew, but that didn’t change her mind. If something happened to her in the line of duty . . . well, it happened. She’d accepted that possibility a long time ago. What she could never do again was be the one left behind. It hurt. Too damn much.

Stepping up to Chief Stone, she shook hands with him, nodding a greeting at Captain Rawlings, whom she’d spoken to before. She tensed as Alex took her hand in his, waiting for the same tremors as when Connor had taken her hand. Maybe she was having an off night, or she was coming down with something. That would explain the weirdness. But when Alex’s hand closed briefly around hers, shaking, then letting go, there was nothing. His palm was calloused the way a working man’s should be, and he definitely fit the tall and handsome category, but his touch was benign. Nothing like the sparks that had shot from the mere brush of Connor’s skin against hers. The chief was a little older, and very definitely married. Maybe that was it. Yep, had to be. The darkness of the scene, small areas bathed in light from the last of the lingering flames had brought back too many memories. That was all.

The car had skidded as she’d thrown it into park, barely turning the key to kill the engine before she was out the door, her feet carrying her across the concrete path outside the alley where Derek’s body lay. That night had been dark, too, and he’d been cold. The gunshot had killed him instantly. She supposed she should be grateful for small mercies. But then, and still, the thought of him leaving the world before she’d even had a chance to say goodbye tore at her. What would she had done differently that morning if she’d known it would be the last time she’d see her husband alive again? Would she have held him a little tighter, kissed him a little longer? Maybe she would have clung to him and forbade him to ever leave her. Would it have worked? She’d never know.

Pulling herself out of her memories, Scarlett refocused on Chief Stone. “ . . . looks normal enough inside the home, from what we can tell underneath the damage, anyway. Nothing outside the ordinary other than what McClellan found in the basement.” The chief looked down at her. His face was calm, but his eyes held a hint of pity. Oh, God, did he know? She faced that enough from the rest of the cops at work.

At first it was hugs and offers of help. “Anything you need, day or night,” they’d said. It hadn’t taken long for hugs of sympathy to turn into awkward conversations, some avoiding her outright rather than try to work out what the hell to say to her, she supposed. She hadn’t exactly made it easy. Years of training made it desperately hard for her to allow any weakness to show through. Scarlett struggled to admit she needed help for anything, and drowning in the grief of Derek’s death just made that harder. Eventually, she’d pulled herself back up and gotten back to work. Still, things had changed. Her closest friends still were exactly that, refusing to be put off by her pissy moods and occasional crying jags when it all got too much, but others slowly fell away. The crying had stopped and left a hardened shell in its place. She showed up, got the job done, and got the hell out of there. Not feeling anything was the best way to never be hurt like that again.

Scarlett ignored the chief’s look and glanced back at Connor. Did he know? For the first time in a year, she’d felt something. Something good. What the hell did she do with that?

“We’ll give you a call when the Fire Marshall’s signed off on the scene and you can get access,” the chief said. “Probably be in the morning.” He glanced up and Scarlett followed his gaze to the lightening sky on the horizon. “Well, later this morning, when sensible people wake up.” He grinned, and Scarlett couldn’t help but smile back. Chief Stone was a nice guy. If she’d interpreted his expression earlier correctly, then he hadn’t meant anything by it other than making sure she was okay. She couldn’t fault the man for that. As a first responder, it was likely instinctual for him, even with others on the job.

“Thanks, Chief.” She nodded again and then turned, walking back to her car, her head drowning in thoughts of good times and bad. It had helped, she and Derek both being on the front lines. So many marriages in their line of work ended in divorce, spouses unable to cope with the stress and demands of the job. They’d understood each other. She’d thought she’d avoided the pitfalls that tore the marriages of multiple colleagues apart. Scarlett sucked in a breath, wiping away a tear that had refused to be held in. She allowed just a single one, and no more. Not while she was on the job. She could get drunk and rage later. For now, she had to get her report in to her captain and then call it a night.

Sitting in the driver’s seat of her sedan, she punched in her captain’s line. “Finished at the scene, sir. Nothing conclusive yet, but I’ll have access to do a further investigation in the morning. You’ll have my report by the afternoon.”

His response was short and to the point, exactly what she needed right then. God, she appreciated his direct approach at least twice a day in the months since that night. Get the job done and move on. No “How are you holding up?” or “Can I do anything?” The only reason she heard anything more from the man than his request for updates on a case she was working on was when she fucked up. That suited her just fine.

Clicking to end the call, Scarlett dropped the phone into her coat pocket and then picked up the car’s radio. “Dispatch, Sergeant Christensen calling in a 10-7.” She’d head to the local PD watering hole. Scarlett doubted anyone would begrudge her a personal relief call after the night she’d had, and by the time she was done, her shift would be over.

She looked back out to the dawning sky, grimacing. It was either too late or too early for alcohol, unfortunately, but a strong coffee and plate of eggs with crappy white bread would do her nearly as well. It would at least prop her up to serve another day. Whether the call came that she could review the scene of tonight’s fire when she was on or off shift, Scarlett intended to be there. A new case was just what she needed to sink her teeth into, and a way better idea than sinking them into the shoulder of the hot-as-hell firefighter she’d met that night.

* * *

Two “vegetable juices,” plus a coffee that definitely had a shot of something in it later, and Scarlett finally felt her melancholy mood lift. Her favorite waitress, Megan, had taken one look at her when she’d walked in the door and served her up a cooked breakfast along with a glass of juice that would “wake her up.” Scarlett’s eyebrows had risen when she’d taken her first sip. All it was missing was a stick of celery, and it would be more Bloody Mary than juice, but it turned out to be exactly what she’d needed. She was beyond caring that it was barely eight a.m. Her hours were regularly muddled up with shifts and emergencies, and hey, it was always five p.m. somewhere. She took a sip of her coffee and sat back, surveying the diner’s patrons, a smile back on her face at the antics of the regulars that early in the morning. Thank God for Megan.

The second sip of her coffee nearly turned into a choking hazard when the diner’s door swung open and Connor walked through. His eyes went straight to her, and he turned back to the small group of other firefighters that had followed him in. He spoke to them briefly before clapping one of them on the shoulder and then turned away from the group. Crap. He was heading straight for her perch at the counter. She wobbled on her stool at his approach and grabbed the counter’s edge as coffee splashed over the edge of her mug. Huh. Maybe she should move to a table before the high stool and her morning pick-me-up got the better of her. She looked over. Connor was still there. On second thought, maybe she’d just be on her way.

She’d managed to fish out her wallet and sling enough cash to cover her bill, plus a thank-you-for-covering-my-ass tip for Megan, but when she turned to leave, she smacked into a wall. Scarlett frowned. She didn’t remember anyone putting a wall there. She looked again. The wall was wearing a navy T-shirt. For the tenth time that morning, she muttered a curse beneath her breath as she raised her chin to take in the rest of the suspiciously Connor-shaped wall.

Damn it. He was smiling. Now she had to be nice. “What are you doing here?” She cringed as the words left her mouth. Well, at least she had managed a full sentence around him. That was more than she would have managed an hour ago, before Megan’s special breakfast. She’d even managed to talk herself down. It had just been the scene—the flashing lights swirling through the darkness, first responders swarming, and the ambulance. It had triggered some kind of sense-memory, and she’d be fine as soon as she put some distance between her and the scene.

That had been the plan, anyway. And until she’d run into the mountain of a man currently standing between her and the exit, it had been working. She’d managed to shut off all emotion. Only this time, the problem wasn’t that Connor was stirring emotions, but what they were.

Something circled in her belly, a low tingle that she couldn’t quite name but recognized all the same. She hadn’t felt it in a long time, and had resigned herself to never feeling that way again. She was okay with that. She’d loved, and been loved, well. Too many people never got to experience that for her to ever get a second chance.

And yet there he was. Second chance in the flesh. Her cheeks tinted red as he continued to hold her gaze. Fuck, his eyes were twinkling at her. Who the hell had that much energy at eight a.m. after a twenty-four hour shift?

What could he do with all that energy?

The slight blush covering her cheeks turned to a raging fire at the thought. Scarlett was hardly a wallflower or a virgin. She’d been married, for God’s sake. And yet now she felt like she was beginning all over again. She was interested, and if she was even remotely reading Connor right, so was he.

It was just a shame that it couldn’t go anywhere.

“Can’t a guy run into his favorite cop anywhere in town without being questioned?” The corner of his smile tipped up at his response to her blurted question, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. He was teasing her, and strangely, it didn’t bother her. Instead, it was actually fun.

An idea occurred to her. The man was obviously game, and he was fast giving her a serious itch to scratch. Could she do it? Take him home, make use of the chemistry she could feel bubbling between them, and then send him on his way? She firmed her jaw. Why the hell not? There was no relationship in her future—any future—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun. Some stress relief to get her through the next while.

Scarlett bit her lip and looked up at him again, holding his gaze, heat in her eyes. She reached out and took his hand, wrapping her fingers around his tightly when she felt the same small shock pass between them at the contact. “What do you say, Fireman? Want to get out of here?”